


Hush

by tawktomahawk



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Jaime and Brienne deserve a happy ending, NSFW, PWP, TV Canon Divergence, Winterfell, and also to receive unabashed love, enjoy, pure sweet filth, the bang(s) that were promised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22807972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawktomahawk/pseuds/tawktomahawk
Summary: Jaime and Brienne continue their relationship at Winterfell, but they have to be discreet.This is quite raunchy and disregards most of season 8, although it is (technically) set after 8x04. You've been warned.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 78
Kudos: 392





	Hush

**Author's Note:**

> In this house, we violently ignore Season 8. Don’t you dare even think about it right now. And yes, Brienne has her scar and Jaime did good work in the Riverlands, even though (technically) this is set in GOT, not ASOIAF. Also, Sansa and Dany are capable of conversation, because they’re women with enough in common to (at least) speak reasonably with each other. Whatever. Details. Let the smut ensue.

The battle inspired recklessness. Their first night together was indiscreet; Brienne keened and Jaime talked far too loudly and far too much. Decorum settled with the dust. Winterfell’s walls weren’t thick enough to forgive more nights’ transgressions. But neither Jaime nor Brienne wanted to stop. Not after all this time apart.

Jaime tells himself he’s fine with it. No one will notice him slip from his room late at night, and he’s quiet as he creeps down the halls with practiced steps to Brienne’s private quarters. He can maintain this secret for the both of them, until Brienne is ready to talk more about what will come next. She has always been gentle with him, and so he will give her this in return. Jaime learned a lot from the years with Cersei. If nothing else, Jaime can fuck Brienne privately, and give her time to decide what she wants from him. 

It bothers him a bit, but that ceases the moment he arrives at her warm room. He rarely sees her during the day. She spends it with Sansa, and Brienne warned him to maintain his distance from the fiery Stark. Jaime does as he’s told, but Sansa intrigues him with her stony silence, and he hopes Brienne introduces the two of them soon. 

Jaime loves reuniting with Brienne like this, at the end of every day. Her blue eyes meet his, and all else is forgotten. His arms come around her solid waist, her muscled back to his chest, freckles on gold. Sometimes they speak in hushed tones, but not tonight. She stays quiet when she feels his cock hard against her buttocks, when he rubs against her until her thighs are slick and he can rut in the space between them, panting into her hair. Sometimes words tumble out of him anyways, and she turns in his arms, curls a large hand over his mouth, and he comes with his teeth pressed against the flesh of her palm. 

She seems to like that. She shivers and flushes hotly, and Jaime moves his teeth to her breasts. She likes that more. 

* * *

Jaime had spent too many years playing this secretive game for it to affect him anymore. He longs for the freedom of noise; of grunts and moans and filthy words, of the slamming of a bed against the wall, of the slap of his muscled thighs ramming into hers from behind. 

But there are moments when Brienne seems to take pleasure from their secret. Once, they fucked on the floor in front of her door, eager and fumbling after Jaime arrived at her room. A group of drunken hedge knights had stumbled through the halls past her door, and she had pulled him to her, buried her face in his neck, and clenched around him. Jaime, of course, would have liked to open the door and yell at the men— _let me fuck my Lady in peace_ —but he settled for the feeling of Brienne coming around him. It didn’t feel like settling at all.

If he has learned one new thing in this familiar hushed experience, it is that he likes the rasp of Brienne’s whisper. The forced quiet has given him that, at least. 

She is shy and inexperienced, but makes her way to pleasure easily enough. On this night, she finds it against his thigh, rocking against him and pulling him closer and closer still. She kisses him, warm and wet and languorous. 

“Inside.” Whispered or not, it would take a stronger man than Jaime to deny her. She is hot, slick, and desperate. Jaime revels in her soft breaths since he can’t let her scream. 

He pushes into her and swallows the desperate sound she makes. She whimpers on his insistent tongue, and when she comes around him, she repeats herself. “Inside, inside.” 

Jaime looks at her through the haze of his pleasure and tries to make sense of her words. 

“Finish. Inside.” Her words are hushed and whiny, and they pierce Jaime straight through. He should probably ask her for more reassurance, but he’s always been prone to reckless couplings. He buries himself inside her, and she draws her hand to her mouth on a gasp. He fucks his seed deeper inside her, and when he is satisfied, he draws back onto his calves to watch it drip from her. If he cannot relish in the audible pleasure of their coupling, he will devour everything in sight. 

He licks her clean, and she bites her pillow as he laps at her. _Yes_. He quite likes Brienne’s whispers. Particularly when they yield such interesting suggestions.

* * *

He’s not sure how they got there, but Brienne is on the bed, the muscles of her arm pronounced in the light of the fire as she uses them to support her weight. Her ass is in the air, and Jaime stands intimidatingly close, watching her bare before him. He can see the soft pink pucker of her just in front of him, and he licks his left thumb to touch her there. 

Her head drops to the bed below her. Jaime takes a quick glance at her—her straw hair a mess against the bed, her lips parted as she pants into the sheets—and swallows a groan. Her magnificent eyes are open, but they drift shut as he slowly slides his cock into her cunt. 

“Inside, again?” He has to breathe the words, because otherwise they’d be too loud. He _has_ to know the answer. 

“Yes.” It’s a whimper against the furs, and Jaime obliges far too soon. This time, he leaves his mess, falling next to her on the bed and drawing her to him, her head tucked under his chin and his left hand slipping between them to rub her to completion.

It is sticky and sweaty and soft, and he wishes it weren’t a secret, too. Jaime’s so tired of secrets. 

“Brienne,” he whispers. “I’ll give you the world, if you ask.” 

She pulls him, somehow, even closer. “I don’t want the world. I want you.” 

Jaime is relieved. He knows their discretion is borne out of responsibility, not shame. Brienne is not trying to punish him or force his hand. Even so, they are stuck. His future is unsure, and in this liminal present, Jaime has little of substance to offer her. It is nice to hear that she wants him, regardless. He dislikes sneaking around, but this is different enough from his time with Cersei that the bitterness releases its hold on him. 

In a rush, he confesses: “I do love you, you know.” Brienne looks startled. Perhaps not disbelieving, but taken aback at the rushed sincerity of his voice. It sounds too loud in their quiet room. 

“I do, too.” She doesn’t say the word. Jaime is alright with that. He is patient with those he loves, and the words she does say warm him all the same. 

But Brienne always surprises him. 

“Since the bath. Since you told me to call you Jaime. Only a little, at first. But more with every day.”

He pulls back from their embrace to look at her. Brienne is brave and shy, and in this bed, she shows him both. The duality flusters him. But in words and romance she is rarely bold. She is tonight. 

“Jaime, I will not sneak around and hide. If the northern lords have an issue with you, they can take it up with Sansa. I’ve spoken with her, numerous times now. We’ve negotiated for days. And this morning—Daenerys finally offered her terms.” She glances up at him nervously. “You can say no. But she’s willing to recognize you as the Lord of Casterly Rock. Tyrion will remain her Hand, but Daenerys is in dire need of loyal houses. And aside from your sister,” she stumbles a bit, “you’re the only Lannister left.”

Jaime is confused. “Why?” he asks. “I’d expected punishment. The Rock? It’d be a reward. And Tyrion...” 

“Strategy, I suspect. You’ll have to thank Sansa for that. She argued in your favor. I think she’s keen to have your support in the future should she or Jon need it. Consulting with the North’s war counsel.” 

Jaime is still confused. “ _Sansa_ argued in my favor?” 

“There is the matter of our vow to her mother. Also, I suppose some remaining Tullys mentioned your work in the Riverlands to her. You were the only Lannister interested in cleaning up the mess. Bargains, negotiations. Even hostages were preferable to more bloodshed. If the Rock must go to someone, both Sansa and Daenerys would have it be someone competent, not bloodthirsty.” 

Jaime takes a deep breath, recalling his infuriating days in the Riverlands, treating with fool after greedy fool. Edmure Tully had been better than most. Hope begins to bubble within him. 

“And Daenerys agrees?”

Brienne nods. “She’s chosen to believe in your competence. She needs it more immediately than vengeance, I think.” Brienne runs a hand up his chest. Her hand barely brushes the hair there, and he shivers. “Jaime, if you don’t want it, you can say so. You don’t ever have to go back to the Rock. She can name someone else its Lord. There is time for you to consider it. Time to say no.”

Jaime savors the idea of having a choice. Brienne is looking at her hand on his chest, and Jaime watches her for a moment. He feels a strange urge to gather her as closely as possible and squeeze. It is a youthful urge. There is a faint glimmer of lust there, but mostly he wants to hug this woman, this marvelous creature who hauled him across Westeros and had the audacity to become his friend. She is his lover now, too. “And what will become of you?” 

She keeps her eyes on her hand. “I’ve trained Podrick for years now, and Sansa trusts him well enough. I’ve fulfilled my vow to her. I can continue to guard her, or Podrick can...” She glances up at him. “Nothing _has_ to change. But...it just means that I would be able to...that our options are more….”

A future unfurls before him, a bright horizon emerging from retreating fog. “That I can marry you.” 

All this time, he had thought to let Brienne decide what to do with him, whether or not to cast him aside, and all the while, she’d been finding a way to give the choice to him. 

“Marry me.” 

She gives a small smile. Far too demure for a woman with his seed drying on her thighs and—if not yet, then soon—his babe in her belly. 

"Marry me. If I have to watch you ride away from me once more in this lifetime, I'll scream."

Her smile widens. 

He is buoyant and light and happy. “Marry me so that we can have children. Tall and strong. With my wit and, if they’re lucky, everything else of yours.”

She grimaces. “Not my face.”

“Aye. May the Gods spare them the break in your nose and the scar on your cheek, only for the pain it would cause them.”

Her eyes glimmer, and Jaime tries to remember when last he saw her cry.

“The Rock’s beaches may not compare to Tarth’s, I fear.” 

She rests her hand on his cheek, and Jaime feels warm. “I’d marry no one else,” she says. “Only you.”

It’s quite a special thing, being chosen. And wholly unfamiliar. Jaime feels unworthy for a moment, before releasing the feeling on an exhale and pushing his cheek further into Brienne’s palm. A mess of a life, driving him deeper and deeper, and at the core of this wretched experience: Brienne, the very best of him, choosing him despite it all. 

* * *

The night of their wedding is, to their surprise, a silent affair. Jaime thought he would be as loud and talkative as he had been their first night together, but he finds he has little to say. 

Brienne is in their bed, and Jaime can hear the waves breaking in the distance. They’ve left the window ajar, and the moon’s light filters in, illuminating the pale scars riddling their bodies. Brienne kisses him sweetly, and Jaime takes his time opening her with his fingers and tongue. When he slides into her, he stays still for a moment, looking into her eyes. Suspended between joy and pleasure, he is unable to speak. 

Silence is funny that way. It can house a secret, a tension, an understanding. Tonight it harbors love. 

They have a lifetime of tomorrows, Jaime thinks as he begins to move. They can be loud, then.

**Author's Note:**

> And then everyone lived happily ever after and that is the end.


End file.
